How to Get Away with Murder
by mementomorieris
Summary: Due to a colossal mix-up, Jim Moriarty and Molly Hooper end up kidnapped by British Intelligence - together. At first it seems like an awful mistake, but as time passes, could this turn out to be a happy accident? A fluffy Molliarty adventure.
1. Don't Bring The Cat

_Hi! So Molliarty is my OTP, and I really like Molliarty fluff... which doesn't really seem to exist. So I challenged myself to write some! _

_Just a warning that the updates for this fic will be slow. I'm already juggling schoolwork and another fic that for some reason I am doing at the same time as this one. I'll try to do once a week, but please don't kill me if I don't manage it. _

_Disclaimer: not mine. _

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**Chapter One - Don't Bring the Cat **

"Stop it. Daisy. Please? Just for a few seconds?" Molly glared at the baby in her arms who was currently howling and throwing up all over the armchair (mercifully avoiding Molly's clothes, though she thought she had a speck of vomit somewhere on her cardigan). Toby looked at the baby disapprovingly, then leapt off the sofa and practically leaped out the cat flap.

Molly had had better evenings.

She didn't want children. She never had. Then why, she thought for the sixteenth time that day, had she agreed to babysit for her friend Meena, who had swanned off to Corfu for a week after turning up at Molly's flat and dumping Daisy on her? Tom had longed for children; it was one of the main reasons they broke up. That and the fact he wanted a _proper _wedding, with a flouncy meringue dress and a church and the like. She had wanted nothing of the sort.

(Then again, she hadn't really wanted to get married all that much either.)

"Daisy. Daisy! Shhhh, there there. It's fine," Molly soothed, gingerly stroking the baby's soft, sparse curls. Daisy finally calmed down and promptly fell asleep, leaving Molly to sigh in relief and settle down with yet another Glee boxset. The episode in question brought back bad memories of the one she'd watched it with, the one who had -

Jim. Who was still alive and still out there somewhere, as of yesterday afternoon when he'd somehow managed to hijack every screen in the United Kingdom.

Strangely, the thought didn't disturb or scare Molly. She was merely curious. How on earth had he managed to get out of shooting himself in the head? And even worse was the fact that when she heard the news of his death (but not-death) she had been saddened. Which was awful! she tried to convince herself over and over. It wasn't James Moriarty she had been mourning, but Jim, Jim from IT with his bad jokes and timid smile. A kindred spirit - or so she had thought.

Why did she have to trust so easily? Sherlock, Jim, even Tom. They'd walked into her life, stolen a piece of her heart, and then walked straight out again. Maybe Molly wouldn't try dating again. Maybe there was no point, maybe she was undateable, maybe -

"Waaah!"

(Molly stopped wallowing in misery to conclude that this was going to be a long night.)

* * *

It was two hours later - Toby back inside, Glee boxset still not finished, baby still awake and making her presence felt - when Molly heard voices through the wall.

"What'd 'e say again?"

"What did who say?"

The voices were muffled, but audible. Molly's ears strained.

"Ya know. Boss."

"Which boss? Big boss, middle boss, recently promoted boss, The Real Deal boss, or Steve?"

"Steve. Or middle boss, I dunno. Can't remember nuffink these days."

"It was Steve. On orders from The Real Deal Boss. He said to restrain them."

"Oos them?"

Molly heard an exasperated sigh. "He said to restrain Molly Hooper and -"

"Waaaaah!"

What.. They were going to restrain her? Her and .. Who? There had been another name, but she hadn't caught it, thanks to that wretched baby..

"Okey doke, we goin in now then?"

"Yeah. And I do the talking, you do the rest, got it?"

"Awright! I'm not an idiot, am I?"

"..."

"Achally, don't answer that."

Molly's doorbell rang. She sat completely still, one hand over the baby's mouth (possibly child abuse, but just about acceptable in the current situation) and breathed in. If she was quiet enough, they might not think she was in and leave.

"Hullo?"

The doorbell rang again. And again.

"We know you're in there. Open up or we break down the door."

Molly admitted defeat and opened the door. "What do you want with-"

There was a sharp stabbing pain in her arm and suddenly the world began to spin. Nausea washed over her and she felt herself falling to the floor.

_I've been drugged. _

The spinning continued, more violently this time, and she found herself not able to think clearly.

_I've been druggedI'vebeendruggedhelpTobyDaisybabydrugneedlepainsleepyOW -_

Blackness swum before her eyes, rippling like she was staring into the depths of a lake, and then drowned her, leaving her looking around and tossing her head wildly and rubbing her eyes in a desperate attempt to restore her sight.

_Blackness**HELP**stopit_ - _can't_ - _hardtobreathestayawake**must**stayawake_ - _darknessDARKNESSpeacefulquietscaredpeaceful_ - **sleep. **

The last words she could make out before she lost consciousness were "Bring the baby. We can bribe her with it. But for God's sake, don't bring the cat."

* * *

Jim Moriarty was having one of the most terrible days of his life.

It all started in the morning. Due to a lack of Seb, he'd had to kill a man himself, which he always hated. And to make it worse, he'd been reminded of the annoying fact that he, Jim Moriarty, was a sloppy shot. The victim in question had taken a full ten minutes to die, and for security reasons, Jim had to hang around until he was sure the man was dead. Which meant he had to hear a whole lot of gasping and retching and "Dear God, let me live!" Pleading always annoyed him, and a full ten minutes of it were enough to make even a sane man wholly irritated in Jim's opinion.

Then, that Mycroft Holmes had sent the entire of British Intelligence after him immediately after seeing his little stunt with the television screens. British Intelligence - why _intelligence_? Most of them were incredibly dense. Usually he would have found some means of escape, but not this time. This time Jim had no choice.

This time, Jim was _inferior. _And he hated it.

And now - now what? Now, he was stuck in the back of a van with one Molly Hooper and one wailing infant. And because the aforementioned Molly Hooper was out cold, he'd had to take care of the the wailing infant. He had considered strangling it, but then concluded this would result in a bad start to his and Molly's relationship, so very reluctantly held it and tried as best he could to keep his suit - which was already dirtied from his having to sit on the floor - clean.

Still, all was not so terrible. The infant seemed to have been misled and had decided to trust him, having stopped crying shortly after Jim began holding it. And more importantly, his suit was so far vomit free.

Molly began to stir. Jim sighed, preparing himself for the usual "Oh my god Moriarty's alive I'm going to die help!" that typically happened at least once in these kinds of reunions.

He heard nothing of the sort. Molly sat up, moved slightly away from him, and shot him a look of pure venom.

"You."

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	2. A Reunion Of Sorts

_Hiya guys! I'm back with Chapter Two._

_Hope you all like it :)_

_Disclaimer: still not mine._

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**Chapter Two - A Reunion Of Sorts**

"You," Molly hissed.

"Well, hello to you too."

Her kidnapper sat across from her smirking and looking thoroughly pleased with himself. She ached to go up and slap the stupid smug smile off his face, but this man was a ciminal mastermind, and Molly did have a brain. His plan was obvious; use her as bait, wait for Sherlock to rescue her, and then try to kill him in some ingeniusly horrible way. Thought she'd be an easy target, did he? Well, Molly was having none of that. Yes, he was dangerous, but she promised herself she was going to get her and Daisy -

Daisy, who was sleeping soundly in the arms of Jim Moriarty.

"And give Daisy back! If you've touched her I swear I will -"

Jim passed Daisy back to Molly, who snatched her back reproachfully and then stroked her in an attempt to be comforting. The infant replied by breaking into a fresh bout of tears.

"Hush, Molls. What makes you think I've hurt her?"

"Well, you're.. like.." Words failed her.

"In fact, she seems to prefer me holding her. Tut tut Molly, you just made her _cry._" He shook his head slowly in mock disapproval. She scowled and inched even further away from him.

"I don't know what your game is, Jim. But.. I mean.. If you're trying to mess with Sherlock by doing this, then -" She was interrupted by his laughter. "What?"

"Oh. No, it's funny. You think _I _did this?"

"You didn't - this wasn't you?" Molly's first thought was that he was lying, but.. it didn't seem like he was. You are ridiculous, she told herself. Trusting Jim Moriarty, of all people.

"Molls, don't be silly, of course it wasn't me. I wouldn't kidnap you myself, would I? Too much hard work and too many bullets wasted."

"Then who did?"

"An angel," he mused.

"Oh," said Molly, baffled by his cryptic response.

"It can't be just a petty criminal. Too well executed. And if it was someone higher up, I'd be their boss."

"So it must be the police, or something?" Molly asked, less scared now she knew (knew? no, _believed_) that this wasn't his doing.

"Think bigger."

"The government?"

"Hmmm.. closer."

"Oh! Oh, I know. Mycroft Holmes."

"Well done, Molly! _Finally _got there," he muttered.

"I'm not exactly a consulting detective."

"Nooooo. Be quite interesting if you were. Although Sherlock probably would have shot me by now. No, wait! He should be grateful to me. After all, I did save his life."

"You what?"

"Saved. His. Life," Jim said slowly like she was the idiot he probably considered her. "Why did you think I plastered my face on every screen in the country?"

There was no response from Molly. She didn't want to admit that she had no idea, thus subjecting herself to more humiliation.

"To get him back in the country," Jim said, irritated. "So he didn't to Kiev and leave me to get bored again."

Molly nodded.

"How is Janine, by the way?"

"Why are you interested in Sherlock's ex-girlfriend?"

"Don't people have a right to want to know about how their siblings are faring?"

"Siblings.. You and Janine are brother and sister?!"

"Apparently dating our dear detective friend is rather _monstrous,_" Jim said. "But it was fun making up all those lovely rumours. And how people believed them!"

"So the papers lied."

"The papers always lie." He chuckled. "You sound more than a bit relieved, Molls."

She blushed furiously. For a criminal mastermind, he was all right.

* * *

"Are we there yet?" Jim almost sang.

"For the last time, Jim, I don't know." Ugh. Molls could be awfully boring at times. Still, at least she wasn't terrified of him like most. The screams had been deeply satisfying at first, but these days they were slightly tedious.

_Stayin' Alive _started to play from the depths of his pocket. Molly looked at him curiously. He made a mental note to change his ringtone (although he had done this many times, and never been successful in remembering to). He sighed and accepted the call.

"Boss?"

It was Cyril, Seb's old assistant, who quite obviously fancied him - so much so that he was incredibly easy to manipulate. Jim still had no idea why he'd promoted him. _Because he's a better shot than you,_ chimed in the logical side of his mind, which he firmly told to shut up. The fact that he couldn't efficiently kill anyone himself was still a sore spot.

"Cyril, this is not a good time."

"We've had new information, boss," said Cyril happily, rather like a new puppy that insisted on bothering and running after his master every living second. "I found it myself. Not anyone. Not even Steve."

"That British Intelligence are about to arrest me?"

"Well.." Cyril faultered. "How did you know, Boss?"

"Because I've already _been_ bloody arrested, you moron," Jim said angrily.

"Oh. Boss, I am so sorry. Is there anything I could do to-"

"Yes. Next time you see Steve, kill him."

"OK. Consider it d-done." Cyril sounded hesitant, but was obviously so eager to please that he would commit murder. "Which method? Shooting, decapitation, poison, burning, suffocating, disembowlment, electrocution, mauling, forced suicide, gas-"

"I don't care, but make it painful."

"Do I have permission to ask you a question, Boss?"

"Is it boring?'

"I don't know."

"Fine, then, if you must."

"He's working for the other side. He got me here. That a sufficient enough reason?"

"Yes Boss. Of course Boss," gabbled Cyril.

"Now scoot."

"Yes Boss. Goodbye Boss. Hopefully see you soon Boss." Cyril hung up and Jim breathed a sigh of relief.

"Your ringtone was really _Stayin'__ Alive_?" Molly said. Of course. Jim hadn't been bothered to change it when he was playing Jim from IT.

"Unfortunately, yes. After all, the best lies have some element of the truth."

"So... d'you really have a cat?" she said timidly, knowing that she was going into dangerous ground, afraid that he would snap at any second.

"I didn't then."

"You have a cat now?"

"Seb had a cat. Dreadfully fond of it. Left the damn thing to me in his will, and I decided to take it in because..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"Seb?"

"My sniper. Dead, courtesy of our dearest detective friend."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

There was an awkward silence. Molly was the one to break it.

"Oh my God! Toby! He might starve, or, or.."

"Wait a second." Jim got his phone out again.

_Molly's cat needs feeding. -JM_

_And? -SH_

_And so does mine, in fact. -JM_

_What have you done with Molly? -SH_

_Nothing! -JM_

_What's happened to her? -SH_

_Ask your brother. -JM_

_I see. -SH_

_Going to feed Molly's cat now. -SH_

Jim smiled. "Done!"

"Who did you ask to feed him?"

"Oh, no one of importance."

Molly paused. "So, about your cat.."

For some reason, Jim was perfectly content telling Molly all about Jezebel, and for some reason, she didn't seem so boring any more.

Yes, he decided. For a perfectly ordinary pathologist, she was all right.

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_I update much faster when I get reviews... :)_


	3. Cuddles with a Criminal

So so so so so so sorry for the late update! I will be faster in future I promise! School's a bitch :(

Disclaimer: Neither Jim or Molly are mine.

* * *

**Chapter Three - Cuddles with a Criminal**

"Are we there yet?"

"Ohforgod'ssakeJim - wait, hang on a second, we might be."

The violent bumps of the truck had ceased. A shaft of light burst through and Molly squinted, then picked up Daisy and stepped outside, dazed. Jim followed.

"Jim Moriarty and Molly Hooper?" said a strong looking man in what Molly thought was military uniform. She recognised his voice from the night of her kidnap.

"Yes," Jim said with an air of confidence. "But I think your employer has made quite a dire mistake, Jenkins."

"Really," said Jenkins sarcastically. It was a statement, not a question.

"Of course. While being most worthy of imprisonment myself, I do think Molly here should be on the way home immediately."

"Molly is reported to be hightly dangerous," Jenkins said through gritted teeth, losing his grip on his temper.

Jim snorted. "You really think this," - he looked Molly up and down - "is highly dangerous?" He earned himself a swipe from Molly.

"We are under orders to keep her restrained!"

"Orders from who?" He chuckled. "An idiot?"

"Shut up," Molly hissed.

"Rude, Molls, I was trying to get them to let you go."

"Just... please be quiet."

"Noooo. I won't do anything until they -"

There was a sound like an aerosol can being sprayed and Jim fell limp to the floor. Molly was shocked by her instinct to catch him, and struggled under his weight, also trying to hold Daisy in the crook of her arm.

"Apologies, Miss Hooper. I had to stop him talking." Jenkins roughly grabbed Daisy from her. "Whose baby is this?"

"My friend Meena's. She lives on 67 Crawley Way."

"Her baby will be returned to her shortly by my employer. Come this way." Jenkins' phone started ringing. "Apologies. Don't try and run or I or one of my colleagues will be forced to take action." Molly gulped, wondering what 'take action' literally meant, as he accepted the call.

"Hello?... Oh." His face paled. "God. ... Well, what do we do?... Main Target 1 told me she was not in any way a threat, but obviously given the circumstances I could not take his words into account at all... I see... But she can't! He's dangerous and... So our employer doesn't know?! So she'll be expected to go to Pripyat anyway?...OK. Yes boss. Thank you boss."

Molly jumped as Jim began to stir in her arms. "Ma'am, I am so sorry. I have no idea how the British Government have made this error, but you seem to have been deported unnecessarily," Jenkins said gruffly. "Unfortunately, my employer does not know of this, so you will still be expected to meet him and explain yourself."

"Oh. So there's no chance I could go home at all?"

"No," he said bluntly. "Follow this way, please."

* * *

"Jim," Molly said softly, reclining in the velvet of the couch as a still-unconscious Jim Moriarty began to awaken on a similarly luxurious chaise opposite her. "Jim?"

"Mmmph." He seemed so vulnerable like this. It was almost endearing, and - NO. She couldn't fall in love with another sociopath. Psychopath? She had no idea.

"Jim, we're on a train."

"Not just on a train, Molls," he said sleepily. "We're on the Mycroft Holmes Express. 'S a fast track to Eastern Europe whenever the Government need it."

"So sort of like a luxury Eurostar?"

"If that's how you want to put it. I think we're headed to Pripyat, Ukraine."

"Isn't that an abandoned city?"

"It was, until Mycroft and Co started using it as a prison."

"Ohhhh." She paused. "They found out I'm not supposed to be here, by the way," she said, a touch quieter.

"They sending you home?"

The silence became awkward. Molly didn't know why, but she felt bad leaving Jim to be tortured or interrogated or worse when she was going to go home to her comfy little flat. At least she'd be with him for the train journey... Wait. She was beginning to savour every moment she had with the _consulting criminal._ It was slightly worrying.

"Not any time soon. Mycroft is still... expecting me."

"Don't feel bad." His voice didn't have the usual light, sing-song air to it.

"I'm - not. I mean, I am, but - Sorry, ignore me." She felt her cheeks furiously staining red.

"Molls?"

"Mm?"

"We're going to have to share a bedroom." His usual flirty tone was back. She felt somewhat relieved.

"Um." Molly didn't know how to react. "They have bedrooms on this train? Really? So they don't have another one?"

"More importantly," he smirked, "we're going to have to share the same bed."

"You sure? How'd you know?"

"Trust me, honey, I've been here several times before. It's quite comfy though. And big. I hope you don't steal the duvet."

"Can't we - just -"

"What, demand another bed?"

"Well.." Molly had been well and truly defeated. (Plus, she was trying to pretend that one weird part of her was slightly pleased to be sharing a bed with him.)

"Do you snore?"

"No! I don't snore!" she exclaimed. "Do - do you?"

"I don't know," he giggled. "You'll have to find out."

"Oh shut up."

"You shut up."

The words 'I love you' almost passed Molly's lips, but she bit them back fiercely and told herself to behave.

* * *

MI5 had surprisingly poor taste in pyjamas. Molly was forced to don a silky rose-pink nightdress that was a tiny bit too short for her tastes, and Jim had been given a checked two piece that he found positively repulsive.

"This," he bemoaned, "is _not Westwood._"

"I didn't know Westwood did pyjamas," Molly commented, finding the scene hilarious.

"They do. I used to own a pair. But then again, I usually sleep naked," he chuckled.

"Please don't."

"All right, anything for you, Molls..."

Molly was feeling a little embarassed about her nightie. It was.. how could she put this.. designed for sexier purposes than sharing a bed with a criminal mastermind she was by no means romantically involved with. And plus, what if she looked awful in it? She was thirty two. That was not considered the age to be wearing this kind of almost-lingerie. It felt like MI5 were encouraging them to do - well - to do_ things,_ things Molly hadn't done in a while after her relationship disintegrated.

She sighed and got into bed, where Jim already was and looked like he was sleeping soundly. She pulled the covers up to her chin. "Psst," she whispered. "If you're awake, guess what."

He grunted a sleepy reply.

"I steal the duvet."

* * *

About halfway through the night, Jim began to stir, waking Molly.

It was a very familiar sight. Jim from IT had done the same, in fact. The real Jim didn't seem the type to get chronic nightmares, but then again, being a consulting criminal he had probably seen a few horrors. She felt a surge of sympathy for him warm her.

Finally he sat up bolt upright, looking so lost, so confused and so small that Molly almost gasped.

When Jim from IT had awoken from the terror, Molly had always offered cuddles. It was actually what she used to do with her brother; after their mother's death, her brother had many dreams about how she died, and Molly had kind of got into the habit. She definitely wasn't about to try and cuddle him now, not thinking that a man like him would appreciate it, but in the end she didn't have to.

"Molly," he murmured forlornly. "Could you, um.."

She knew what he meant instantly, and tentatively nuzzled into him. His heartbeat slowed down against her, and for just a minute she forgot that he was the most dangerous man on the planet and that this could never, ever have a possibility of working out well, and she let herself relax in the arms of the devil.

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	4. We Need To Talk

_Hiya everyone! _

_I only got one review for the last chapter but I'm updating anyway because I love you lovely muffins so much :) longest chapter yet - yay! - and I worked for ages on this one! _

_So yeah I said this was fluffy, but this chapter's a little angsty.. Sorry.. Don't kill me..._

_Disclaimer: still not owned by me!_

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**Chapter Four - 'We Need To Talk'**

Jim woke up and Molly had shifted to the other side of the bed.

What exactly had happened last night? He'd had the usual dream - the recurring one about his parents and sister, the one he never spoke about to anyone - and then he had been jolted awake and seen Molly.

And then what? Had they _cuddled? _Probably, seeing as Molly was much further away from him than she had started the night being, meaning that she woke up still in his arms and then moved away, disgusted or alarmed. Which meant that she was still awake, and doing a terrible impression of being still asleep.

"Molls," he said softly. "Stop pretending to be asleep, it's really not working."

She didn't stir.

"Are you mad at me?" Jim paused. "Molls, if you carry on, I'll have to tickle you." He had no idea where that had came from; he remembered from being Jim from IT that Molly was extremely ticklish, but...

"See!" she groaned, turning even further away from him. "That's exactly it."

"I don't follow."

"You're being so... nice." She sniffed. "And I know why."

"Why?"

"You're using me. And I'm _not_ about to get used again by another high functioning sociopath."

"Psychopath," he corrected, knowing that it was probably insensitive, but not being able to help himself. "And I'm not using you. I mean, I know I have a bit of a track record with this sort of thing -"

"_A bit of a track record?_" Molly said indignantly. "You only dated me to get to Sherlock, Jim. You left him your number and then you left me."

"You dumped me," he said tersely. "For being gay." He paused. "I'm not, by the way," he said quickly. OK, so that had been rude. He'd have to make an effort around Molly from now on.

"But don't you see? You broke my heart, and now you're about to do it all over again."

It took a few seconds for him to process what she had just said. "Molly..."

"Just - just - stop it. Stop lying. Stop faking being nice to me. You don't have to." She got up and stormed into the bathroom, bolting the door behind her.

He chose not to pick the lock.

* * *

Molly was in love with him.

Another high functioning so- no, psychopath... was that worse? Psychopaths were basically murderers, weren't they? - and she was falling for him. For his smile and sarcastic wit and cuddles and _tickles. _The breaking point for her had been when she realised how much she wanted him to _tickle_ her. She slumped against the bathroom door, her head in her hands.

"Molly," she heard him say from the bedroom, voice tinged with concern. She imagined him; his hair ruffled up, brown eyes warm, so unlike the coldness that she had imagined Moriarty, the criminal mastermind, displaying. A small tear tracked down her cheek and she brushed it away quickly, trying to dismiss the urge to unlock the door and tell him exactly how she felt. She hadn't felt this way since Sherlock, for crying out loud. How would he react upon finding out? Would he laugh? Mock her, or explain that it would never, ever be able to work, that a romance between her, a small, uninteresting pathologist, and him, the most dangerous man in the Western Hemisphere, would be doomed before it had even started?

And yet a tiny part of her was desperately hoping all his charm and warmth was not a mask to fool her, not a weapon he was so cleverly deploying to make his later manipulation of her that little bit easier. She clung to that hope like it was lifeline guiding her through uncharted rapids.

"Molly, I don't do sentimental speeches, but if you open up I might just attempt one."

She couldn't stay in the bathroom forever, now could she?

And here he was, offering to make a bloody sentimental speech.

_What in hell are you doing, Molly, loving a man like him? _said a voice that sounded a lot like a crueller version of Sherlock from the depths of her mind.

**I don't know.**

_Listen to me, Molly. You'll have the greatest of times together and then suddenly he'll tire of you. And you know what he'll do then, now don't you?_

**But what if he's -**

_But what if he's what? Nice? A lovely little psychopath who feels, who cares for nothing and no one? _

**That's not true! You don't know him!**

_Oh but I do know him. I also know that you've gained weight. I also know that you're still sore over your break up and have turned to chocolate as a source of comfort._

**Shut up! Shut up and get out of my head and never come back again!**

Sherlock finally fell silent. He sighed, shook his head, and then disappeared.

In his place was her mother.

_Margaret Elizabeth Hooper, you are a disgrace to me and to this family! _

**Mum... please forgive me, Mum...**

_Forgive you, Margaret? Look at yourself, you've turned into a common whore! I knew there was a reason you could never settle down, because you're too busy sleeping with other men!_

**Mum...**

_Forget it, Molly; forget all the high hopes I ever had for you! I expected so much better, and so did your father!_

Molly let out a fresh sob. **Please, Mum, leave me alone! Mum?**

_I died happy knowing that you were engaged to a respectable man and that you were going to have a normal life! _Her mother's tone softened, tears springing to her eyes. _We're so disappointed in you._

**Enough!** Molly shouted.

_Margaret, you dare defy me? _

**Yes, Mum, I do. I'm standing up to you for the last time. **

_Margaret, you are -_

She smiled to herself.** Oh, and Mum? It's Molly. **

She squeezed her eyes tight shut, watching the shocked, screaming form of her mother disintegrate with one last shriek. Upon opening them, there was no one there. No one but Molly Hooper, who was perfectly capable of making her own decisions._  
_

Who had already made them, however stupid and wrong Sherlock and her mother were finding them, however ridiculous the notion that someone like _him _was even capable of having a heart was. But this time, Molly just decided to trust her instincts.

After all, psychopaths might also be her type.

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

* * *

"Molls!" he said, smiling a little too brightly, as she finally emerged from the bathroom and moved to sit down next to him on the bed. He caught a whiff of her perfume. Some sort of vanilla.. It suited her.

Time seemed to grind to a halt as a very familiar voice popped into his head. A very familiar voice, a very calm, very regulated voice, a very sorely missed voice. A very dead voice. _Stop it, Jim,_ said Seb. _Now you sound inconsiderate. _

**But I am inconsiderate. That's just me, **he retorted.

_Not around Molly, you're not. Around Molly you're polite. Sweet, even._

**Fine**_, _he grumbled_. _**Anything for Molly.**

_Anything for Molly, because you love her, _Seb said quite seriously.

**Please. I don't love Molly.**

_What are you planning on getting from her, then?_

Seb had a point. He was usually only nice to people when they were - voluntarily or involuntarily - giving him things later, whether the things were money, loyalty, or a new pair of patent leather shoes. What was he getting from Molly? Money... hmm, no, the girl wasn't exactly rich, her job as a pathologist was pretty average to low paying. Loyalty - no, she could have called the police already, but chose not to. And the shoes? Molly had the most abysmal taste in clothes, she'd probably pick out some awful neon pink ones. He chuckled to himself at the thought.

**I'm not sure of that yet.**

_You can't think of one._

**I can't think of one.**

_Because you love her. Think about it._

Jim nodded, feeling what would have been defeat if it wasn't so strangely revelationary.** All right, Seb,** he said, **I love her.**

_Now go and bloody show her that you do. Like a human being. You are one, after all._

Jim smiled fondly, cursing Sherlock for the one hundreth time.**I think you'll find I'm - **

_OK, OK, a genius. _Seb smiled and then disappeared as Jim was called back to real life by Molly's voice. "Jim.. I'm sorry for getting mad at you, it was stupid."

"It was actually quite clever of you to suspect I was only being nice to you to fool you into trusting me. I was most impressed."

"But I wasn't right."

"No. I was just being nice. Rather out of character, I know."

She moved closer to him. Her thigh brushed his. "And... Well.. Th-there was another reason, that I was mad at you.." Molly immediately flushed bright pink.

"Oh?" Jim said flirtatiously, leaning in ever so slightly closer to her. "We'll have to talk about that later."

His lips suddenly captured hers, and once she had gotten over her initial shock, she started to kiss him back. Yes, he had kissed before, but that was always about _obtaining_ something from the woman - or man, in a few cases - that he was kissing. This time was about.. love? He internally recoiled at the thought of such a cliche prospect, but then decided to just enjoy it.

Could love really be that bad?

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_Leave a review? Please? It would make my day :)_


	5. Revelations, Separations and Zombies

_Hi, and here's Chapter Five!_

_Hope you all enjoy it :) _

_Disclaimer: nothing in this story is mine except the plot. (But there actually is an abandoned city called Pripyat in Ukraine - it was abandoned during the the one I'm using as Mycroft's secret base (although in real life it doesn't belong to British Intelligence!)... In case anyone was interested... :D)_

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**Chapter Five - Revelations, Separations and Zombies**

"You kissed me," Molly said, breathless and tiny bit startled, after they finally broke apart.

"Well, yes," said Jim, mildly amused. "I thought that much was obvious."

"And you're seriously - I mean, you're not, like, I mean - you aren't -"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p' and smirking in his cocky, confident, _wonderful _way.

"_Oh,_" she said, and leaned in to kiss him again, more passionately than before. Where had this man learnt to kiss, anyway? She hadn't thought the job of consulting criminal required much kissing, but he certainly put Tom - and just about _anyone_ she'd ever kissed - to shame.

Molly heard footsteps down the corridor outside their room. "Mycroft's men," Jim murmured against her lips as she pulled away, aware they were about to be interrupted. "Go to the other side of the room and pretend you hate me." She obliged, and dashed over to the mirror, pretending to fix her hair and deliberately ignoring him. It was hard - her mind was racing and her heart felt like it was going to fall out of her chest.

Jenkins strode into the room, followed by a nervous-looking other one she hadn't seen before. "James Moriarty, you are under official arrest by British Intelligence." There was a click and Molly glanced at Jim's hands. They were cuffed. He made a 'here-we-go-again' face and she tried not to smile back or laugh. "You are allowed not to say anything, but it may -"

"Oh please," Jim drawled, "I've been here many times before."

Jenkins cleared his throat and continued. "It may be used against you." He led Jim out, leaving Molly alone with the awkward, shy one.

"Are you Molly Hooper?" he said quietly.

She nodded.

"Boss wants to see you." The silence became loud and obstinate. "I'm Private Alexander Maxwell of the Lancashire Fusiliers, by the way. Nice to meet you, and I'm awfully sorry about the mix-up." His voice was very posh and he sounded uncomfortable. Molly felt sorry for him - he reminded her of herself when she first started out as an intern at Bart's.

"No, really, it's fine," she said, smiling warmly at him. Maxwell seemed to visibly relax.

"So, um, yeah. This way," said Maxwell.

Molly followed him out of the train station and into seemingly endless metal tunnels. Her footsteps echoed and bounced off the metal, the dust in the air finding its way to the back of her windpipe, forcing her to cough, the sound reverberating around the walls. It occurred to her that she had never caught a glimpse of what this city was like before it was abandoned; why? Where were they again - Ukraine. Was it something to do with radiation? That would make sense and explain why they couldn't be exposed to outside the tunnels. But why would Mycroft choose this for his -

It hit her like a double decker bus. Jim could be dead already for all she knew, and she would go and see Mycroft who would reassure her that 'everything is fine, Moriarty is definitely not going to come back.' Except for her, and possibly _only_ for her, this would be the very opposite of fine. She would never see the man she loved again - yes, loved, she could use that word with certainty now - and she would go back home. Home, to her flat and her cat and her late nights watching Glee. Home, to awkward coffee dates and men recoiling when she told them what exactly she did for a living. Home, to Sherlock who would lead her on and then crush her hopes like he'd done so many times. The thought was unbearable.

She was so occupied with worry that she barely noticed the change of scene, staring at her feet, her mind somewhere else - a dark, unreachable place. "Molly Hooper, I presume?" said a male voice that wasn't Maxwell's. Molly looked up from her feet and saw Mycroft Holmes himself staring at her, analysing her. She felt very exposed under his cold, discerning gaze.

"Yes," she said quickly.

"Much apologies for the mistake. I believe that the message was somewhat lost in translation; we were ordered to restrain James Moriarty and protect you, but apparently MI5 got that wrong somewhere along the way." He smiled - an icy, reptilian smile. Molly almost shivered.

"No, it's fine, I understand," she stammered, unable to look him in the eye.

"Did Moriarty harm you in any way?" Mycroft enquired firmly.

"Well, no - "

"You can tell us. It won't be a danger to you. If he's threatened you, we can assure the threats will not be carried out."

"H-how?"

"He'll be dispatched at dawn tomorrow," he said simply. "Firing squad. No man, however ingenious, can fake his death twice, especially when he's accompanied by half of British Intelligence." Mycroft chuckled as Molly swallowed the lump building in her throat, dismissing the heavy feeling of dread that weighed her down like iron filling her veins.

She nodded quickly and did her best to look pleased with the news. "When will I be able to go home?" she said, eager to change the subject.

"In a few days. The train doesn't leave until Tuesday, but we could make an exception and send you back to London the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, we've brought you your phone so you can contact your family, and some of your other belongings. Regrettably, your cat could not be brought here, but Sherlock tells me he's perfectly safe."

"Is there somewhere for me to stay tonight?"

"We've prepared a bedroom. Maxwell will show you the way." Mycroft gestured to Maxwell, who was staring blankly into space. "Maxwell?"

"Hmm?" He was jolted out of his daydreams. "Yes, boss?"

"Show Miss Hooper to her suite, and make sure she is reunited with her belongings."

"Yes boss," Maxwell said quickly. "Um, this way, madam."

Molly smiled. It felt alien to be addressed so formally. "Please, call me Molly."

"Of course, Miss Hoop - Molly," Maxwell said, the tips of his ears turning red. She fought the urge to laugh.

* * *

The suite was luxury. Molly even had her own _jacuzzi,_ for goodness' sake, but couldn't enjoy it - Jim's imminent death weighed down her every thought. She had called her family, who were all in hysteria, and texted Sherlock to make sure Toby was all right, which he was (but slightly singed from an experiment at Baker Street gone wrong).

Her phone pinged. _Do you think you could climb out the window? -JM_

She bit back a gasp. How did he get her number - no, more importantly, how on earth was he texting?

_If I had to.. Why? And how are you managing to text me? xx -Molly_

The reply came immediately. _Explain later. Look out the window and you'll see me. -JM_

_Fine, I'll climb out the window. x -Molly_

_There's a trellis you should be able to step on, and it's only a few floors. Be careful. Don't want you ending up like Sherlock, do we? -JM_

_You be careful! They could catch you! xxx -Molly_

_I'm always careful. -JM_

Molly chuckled at his reply, then made her way over to the window. The ground seemed a long, long way away. She took in a deep breath, then climbed out, her foot groping around for the trellis. It found nothing, swiping at thin air.

Molly clung on to the windowpane, her knuckles turning white, and glanced downwards. The trellis was too far for her foot to reach. She loosened her grip, slipping slightly, and edged her foot downwards, finding nothing - and then a solid foothold. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, and carried on her descent.

She soon reached the ground, and made her way over to the small clump of trees where Jim was. He looked pretty rough - there was a purple, poppy bruise on his temple and he obviously had been put through some painful interrogation. Unable to stop herself, she ran towards him and pulled him into a tight hug.

"That looked close," he murmured into her hair. "Well done, though."

"Mm. Thanks. What happened?"

"This and that. Nothing I'm not used to." She hugged him even tighter. Someone behind them coughed politely.

"Jim, I'm sure you two can finish this later." Molly spun around at the deep, unfamiliar voice to see a broad, muscular man with close-cropped blonde hair. At his side was a scared looking Maxwell, the woman Sherlock had recognized from not-her-face, and someone she thought might be Mycroft's PA.

"Ah yes. Molly, meet Seb, Irene, and Anthea."

"Seb? But you were dead... and Irene... you - you were - on my slab!" She paused. "Does anyone even die any more?"

"It seems not," said Irene, stepping forward and kissing Molly on the cheek for longer than is usually necessary. "We'd better get moving, or they'll be on our tail."

"We can steal one of Mycroft's cars. I brought the keys," Anthea added.

"Right," said Molly slowly. The group begun walking over to the car park, and Molly drifted back to Jim, taking hold of his hand.

"Molls?" he said, smirking.

"Yeah?"

"You have a lipstick stain on your cheek."


	6. A Not-so Cliché Car Chase

_I am a horrible person... two weeks without an update :( the only excuse I have is I've had youth theatre rehearsals all this week and have been constantly learning lines etc, but I promise to update more in future :)_

_ This chapter was so much fun to write though, and thanks for the reviews, everyone - I appreciate them sosososososo much._

_ Warning: there is swearing. I know the rating's T, but I haven't really included much grown up themes or language yet... well, I'm going to start to. No smut though (sorry). Thanks and please review! x_

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**Chapter Six - A Not-so Cliche Car Chase **

The group walked into the car park of the British Government, Anthea leading the way, Jim, Molly and Irene following, and then Seb, who was holding a British Army Browning L9A1 firmly to the gagged Private Alexander Maxwell's temple.

Straight after Anthea unlocked the yellow Lamborghini, angry alarm bells pealed out around them. "Fuck," Irene cursed. "Everyone. Into the car. Now, goddammit."

"I'm driving!" said Seb, reminding Molly of a small child who'd just bagsied the seat by the window.

"There's no time for arguing!" Irene said.

She heard something that sounded a lot like Maxwell whimpering.

"Pleeeeeeaaase can I drive...?" Seb whined.

"Fine," snapped Irene, "whatever. Just get onto the road to Kiev, and fast."

Seb, Irene and a captive Maxwell were in the front whilst Molly was in the back of the car, squished between Jim and Anthea. "So you're Mycroft's PA... Why are you.." she said shyly.

"Oh! I'm with Irene." The engine started with a sudden roar, and they burst out of the car park faster than she was used to.

"Why exactly did you choose the yellow Lamborghini again?" said an extremely annoyed Irene. "We're as conspicuous as they come."

"I thought it looked cool," Seb faltered, swerving sharply around a corner. Molly found herself tilting to the left and almost falling into Jim, who was brushing down his suit.

"So you and Irene are business partners?" she said, bemused. Jim rolled his eyes and laughed at her innocence.

"No. I'm with Irene," said Anthea, slowly like Molly was an idiot. It took her a few seconds to understand.

"Ohhh! That's nice. So are you working undercover? Like, you're only working for Mycroft because..." She trailed off, having noticed that Anthea's eyes were practically glued to her Blackberry.

"Irene, what does that sign mean?" asked Seb, pointing to a set of directions on a road sign.

"You don't actually know how to drive, do you," Irene said plainly.

"Well. I know a bit, I suppose, but -" Molly had a mini heart attack as they narrowly avoided crashing into a minibus. "No. I don't really know how to drive."

"Give it here then."

"Can't I just.."

"For christssake, give me the wheel!" With some awkward manouvering, they managed to swap seats, which meant Seb was no longer next to Maxwell. This relieved Molly somewhat - although how Seb had managed to drive and hold a gun to someone's head simultaneously she would never understand.

Irene pressed hard on the accelerator and they zoomed ahead when Molly saw something in the wing mirror. "Shit," she gasped. "Irene, I think they're following us."

"Great," Irene sighed. "Well, that's just fucking great." She tossed three guns at Molly, Jim and Anthea. "Open the back window and shoot like hell at them. Hopefully you'll get the driver."

"I've never used a gun before!" Molly said.

"Mm?" Anthea finally looked up from her texting.

"I, erm, don't do guns," Jim said nervously.

"You want to get captured and executed or not?" Irene demanded.

They agreed reluctantly, and rolled down the back window, catching a glimpse of the driver (Jenkins) and the man in the back seat (none other than Mycroft Holmes himself). Molly swallowed the lump that fear had formed in her throat. Seeing the men she was supposed to attempt to kill made it all seem more real, and she felt a wave of moral duty to get rid of the gun, jump out of the car and run back to British Intelligence. Don't think, Molly, her mind instructed. _Just **do.**_

She pulled the trigger and the gun jerked sharply in her hands, hurting her wrist. There was a bang and the bullet deflected off the edge of the car and landed somewhere on the side of the road. _Not bad, Molly,_ her mind said. _But try to aim. _

She fired a few more shots, three of which made spiderweb cracks in the glass, as Jenkins ducked and dodged skillfully, pulling out a pistol of his own. They were dead now, Molly thought - Jenkins was a trained professional, with three targets to aim at, whereas they were three people who had never used a gun in their lives. Who would get hit first, and where? A fatal shot, or just a wounding one? Would they die immediately, or would their death be prolonged and painful and -

**BANG.** A red, mottled mark wept hot tears of blood in the spot exactly between Jenkins' eyes. He fell limp instantly, and the car skidded before crashing into a bush by the side of the motorway. Molly glanced at Anthea, who mirrored her look of surprise and relief, and then to Jim, who was smiling to himself. She looked at him curiously. "What?" he said, and blew across the top of the pistol like they do in Westerns. Molly couldn't contain her laughter, and rested her head on his shoulder, finally feeling a strange sense of peace.

"How sweet," said Irene sarcastically. "Although I'm sure a better thing to do right now would be to check they didn't send any other cars after us?"

"Anthea, you check," Jim murmured.

Anthea tore herself away from her texting and looked over her shoulder. "No. We're clear."

"Good. We should be arriving in Kiev soon," said Seb.

"Mmmmph," Maxwell attempted from underneath his gag.

"Don't you think we could untie him and take the gun away from his head?" asked Molly.

"Ooh, got a soft spot for him, have we," Jim said bitterly.

"No! Course not! I just think that - "

"Well, if you have, I'm not worried." He sat back and folded his arms.

"Oh." Molly was perplexed. "Why?"

"I thought you'd have known by now." Jim smirked. "_Underwear_."

"Underwear - oh, righhhht." She put her head back on his shoulder, gazing out of the window at the sunlight straining to stream through the branches. "I love you."

She nearly clapped a hand to her mouth after saying it so publicly, but it was the truth, and Jim placed a protective arm around her. She didn't expect a reply, and that was fine. The gesture was enough, and even as Anthea giggled and Seb sighed at his boss' display of affection, Molly felt herself fully relax for the first time that day.

"Say it, then," Seb whispered.

"Say what?" asked Jim.

"It's only polite to reply."

Jim made a face of mock annoyance. "Alright then. Love you too, Molly."


End file.
